


Survivor

by Sister of Silence (Orcbait)



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 02:37:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orcbait/pseuds/Sister%20of%20Silence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sister Anabel reflects upon events in her recent past, and a battle that did not quite go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survivor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rosalyne Lightdawn (Rosalyne)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosalyne/gifts).



IT HAPPENED during one of my first battles; or perhaps the first battle, I am not quite sure. After so many decades of war it becomes difficult to distinguish one skirmish from another; they all begin to look alike: an unending déjà vu of carnage and slaughter. Different worlds, different enemies, and different faces – they die all the same. It doesn’t truly matter when it was, or even where it was. It suffices to say that I was young and green, a fresh novice, and inexperienced to the point of it being veritably suicidal. But, weren’t we all, once? We who lived, did so because we grew stronger; and those who didn’t, died. That is the simple truth of it – we are born, we grow up, we live, we die; and the majority sooner rather than later. I lived, I did. I lived because I grew up, as swiftly and mercilessly as only a universe wrought with war can make you. It was worth the alternative of death.

WE CHARGED across the uneven terrain amidst the ruins of a city spasming in its death-throes. My Sisters were beside me; our voices raised in praise to Him On Earth as we stormed our enemy. They may look like harmless, devout citizens, dressed in the dregs of their mundane professions; but they were not. Heretics – one and all – and we would purge them with bolt gun and fire. My legs strained to keep up the furious pace, despite the magnificent amplification armour I wore. My throat was hoarse of chanting; my lungs of exertion burning; my heart with adrenaline pounding, as if it were soon to burst. It did not matter. The heretics must burn. My sight locked onto them and they were all I knew. The blasts of the constant bombardment faded, the voices of my Sisters grew indistinct and the pumping of my own heartbeat overtook all other sounds. There was only me; and them, and they would all die.  
It was a moment of tranquil infinity, my feet beating in time with my adrenaline pumped heart as I closed in on them as the Aquila upon its prey. It seemed to stretch into blissful infinity… until it came crashing down into pandemonium as we fell upon them with righteous fury. My bolt gun spat slugs at the nearest heretic, punching fist-sized holes across his chest as I squeezed the trigger again and again. He was dead before he hit the ground. I span into a low crouch to face a second, coming at me from behind. The point blank shot obliterated her face. From the corner of my eyes I saw one of my beloved Sisters fall; her skull exploding like a ripe fruit under the force of the hammer blow. A cry to Him tore from my lips as I leapt and fell upon the culprit, my chainsword biting through his torso with murderous zeal. Blood sprayed me, but I paid it no head, whirling around and seeking for another stayed one to grand absolution. It was a bloodbath; the utter carnage numbing my senses in mere moments as I hacked my way through them. All the world was lost to me safe for my singular goal – His Will Be Done.  
I jerked around when a hand suddenly closed around my arm. Swiftly coming round the butt end of my chainsword hit before I even saw my target. A punctuated cry. My gaze caught up with my actions. The blow had flung my assailant into a sprawl upon the blood soaked rockcrete. She couldn’t have been much older than I was at the time. She raised her hand as I raised my bolt gun. She opened her mouth, but there could be nothing but lies from there for me to hear. Suffer not the alien, the mutant, the heretic…to live.  
“Rest in His Mercy,” I spoke through clenched teeth, and salvaged her wicked soul with a singular shot. I was on my feet and into the melee once more without a second’s thought; bearing retribution to the unbelievers.  
Too caught up in our righteous frenzy we never saw it coming. Until it was too late. The ground shook; suddenly and violently, and I was thrown off-balance. The blast that followed immediately after was close by, and its terrible shockwave flung me across the unforgiving, debris-riddled rockcrete. A sharp pain knifed itself through my spine as I came to a stop against a ruined wall, crumpling like a ragdoll. I laid as I had fallen, dazed, and with stars exploding behind my eyes, my brain failing to comprehend what had just happened as I dimly watched the devastation it had caused. A Sister lay close to me, her body twisted in unnatural angles, a silent scream in her blank, staring eyes. Another lay further ahead, half of her body missing. Dimly I registered each and every one of them. So many. All of them? All of us? How could this be…? I tried to pull myself together but pain lashed through me as I shifted, my vision swam… and then there was only merciful darkness.

WHEN I CAME TO, daylight was dying beyond the horizon as dusk with unforgiving swiftness fell. My heartbeat was pounding loudly in my ears, dominating my existence and all other sounds – the continued bombardment, the indistinct sounds of fighting – they were all oddly muffled. It was utterly disorienting. I tried to sit up, shaking my groggy mind into submission, but white spots erupted in my vision, which only slowly cleared. Panic struck me as the reason of my dulled senses sank in. The shell blast. My hearing, my sight… all but ruined from the close impact. My armour had protected my body, but I had not worn my helmet, and for that I had been made to pay the price. The world closed in on me; large, terrifying, disorienting. One doesn’t realise how much one relies upon hearing, upon sight, until confronted with the loss of them. I blinked against the blind spots lingering in my vision, praying to Him they would leave and reveal my sight. Eyes were the only tissue the gifted bio-magos could not craft. Too delicate, too intricate. The thought of losing my vision frightened me even more than losing my hearing. A cripple. Useless. I was dead safe for dying. Dead, even, before having a chance to live, to serve Him, to vanquish His enemies.  
Time must have passed, though I couldn’t be certain. Not then and certainly not now, so many decades later. I felt as if I’d sat there for an eternity, propped up against that crumbling wall, though it may have very well been mere minutes. Time is such a fluid thing. My will to live was fading… and then he appeared from among the utter devastation as if in a dream; his chiselled features backlighted by the sunset and for several blissful moments I was convinced it was Him, come down from the heavens to release me from my mortal existence and lift me into His Grace. However, such was not yet to be my fate. It was not Him; part of me realised this as strong arms pulled me up and onto my feet. He said something; I saw his mouth move, his dark eyes searching, but the words were indiscernible to me. My eyes wandered; across the devastation around me. My Sisters, their ruined bodies were spread everywhere. There were none left standing. Only me. And him, and a handful of his men. The realisation I was the sole survivor of this living nightmare broke something deep within me, and suddenly tears streamed down my face, unable to help myself as the enormity of the situation drove itself home to me with merciless forse. There was only me. The Order was no more. A strong arm moved around my waist, followed by the securing strength of another’s body supporting my own. I was pulled away, I walked, I stared, I cared not.  
When the ground shook once more a deadening sense of déjà vu rooted me to the spot, freezing all there was left of my senses. This was it. This was the end. I steeled myself, lifted my chin. In that very moment I was suddenly thrown to the side, though not by the shockwave. I hit the ground hard once more, but I was not alone. He was beside me, shielding me, pressing us flat against the rockcrete as the shockwave tore past. And once more, I knew only darkness.

WHEN I WOKE again, I woke to darkness. Terror seized me instantly. I was blind! Yet as my initial panic-stricken moment passed I realised I could see vague shapes in the darkness. Rockcrete. A wall. It must be night. I turned to my other side, and was blinded by fire light.  
“Careful.” It was a man’s voice; bass-strung, authoritative, reserved. This was someone who led, who was used to others bending to his will unquestioningly. It wasn’t a suggestion, not even a statement, it was an order. It riled me despite myself. Who was he to order me around? I am a Sister of Battle, none but Him tell us what to do and where to go. I blinked against the glare of the fire, willing my eyes to adjust to the brightness. Slowly, they did so. He was sitting close by, cross-legged, and if I stretched my arm I could touch his knee. His eyes were dark and commanding, observing my intently and set in chiselled features weathered by adversity; his eyes laid sunken under a perpetually creased brow, flanked by cheekbones high and sharp, and his nose that had been broken at least once. His skin was tanned by a life outside, and marred by a life of war. It was difficult to gauge his age. Age left deeper traces on those who made a life in war. Yet despite the grey streaking his temples, his short, mused hair was dark and a shadow of stubble covered his jaw. He struck me as familiar, the strange sensation that you know a person without ever having met them. I glanced across him then – broad-shouldered and lean, fit. Blue cloth, red cloth, white cloth, red sash… the coin dropped. These were the battered remnants of a commissar’s uniform. Again that nagging feeling. I knew I should know who he was, yet his identity eluded me.  
“I am fine,” I said then, pressing myself up into a sitting position. To my surprise nothing truly hurt. Aches? Yes. Scratches? Most definitely. Bruises? Covered in them. Serious injuries? None. Only then I realised all my senses – my sight, my hearing, were working properly again and a flood of relief washed over me. For all intents and purposes, I was safe and sound. Yet as I glanced down myself, I noticed that my armour wasn’t. The strong power armour had taken the beating intended for my body. Looking upon its state it was a miracle in and of itself it still hung around my body to begin with. Its plates at ripped under stress in many places, and cut in others by undoubtedly vicious weapons and deadly schrapnel.  
“You are lucky,” he commented, still looking at me, his gaze unflinching.  
“My Order is no more,” I replied. I didn’t feel lucky.  
“You are your Order now.” I looked at him again, with wonder this time. He was still observing with me. “It is your duty to return and bear word and witness,” he added with a certainty I found strangely reassuring. He was right.  
“I will,” I said, with as much conviction as I could muster. It must have been a sign, for there was a sudden clap of thunder that was most definitely not artillery. We both glanced up at the sky. Me, undoubtedly, with an awestricken expression, him one of mild surprise. A drop fell onto my upturned face, and then another, and another, quickly becoming more, until it became a virtual down pour. Within moments, we were soaked, and our fire died.  
“Come,” he said, gathering up the few things he had lying about before reaching a hand to me. I frowned a little, but when a mild pain down my spine reminded me what I had been through, I accepted it and got onto my feet. He looked around, then moved swiftly from the open topped ruin, down the promenade, to a more whole building nearby. I followed him swiftly, falling into step behind him and automatically mimicking his lead.  
The building appeared to be a ruined house of sorts. The glass had been blown out and the wooden furniture was all but in smeethereens. On the bright side, there was enough firewood at hand and as it still possessed most of its roof, most of that wood was dry. He swiftly went about gathering it and building a new fire after setting down the few belongings he had carried with him from our previous hold out. I moved the help but he stopped me with a hand gesture. “Sit, Sister.” He said it with such casual authority it rooted me to the spot. I opened my mouth to reply, but then closed it and sat down, watching him set about it swiftly and expertly. It was clear he had done so many times. Within minutes we had a fire once more.  
I shivered. The cold months were coming by the standards of this planet, though I had not noticed anything of that before as my armour had a self-regulated temperature. The sudden burst of rain had soaked me on account of my broken armour and torn body glove. When I saw him glance my way I clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering and tried to hide the shivers. It would not do to show weakness. I still hadn’t the foggiest at who he was, but he was someone, that much was clear. Better safe than sorry. Yet despite my efforts, my limbs trembled.  
“Take it off,” he commented as he got up. I stared at him. What? Take what off? What in the Warp was he talking about? My expression must have been comical, more so when he started to strip down himself on the spot. “Unless you’d rather freeze to death?”  
I glanced down at myself, the broken armour and torn body glove I was wearing. He had a point. Reluctantly I started to take off my ruined armour, and then the torn body glove. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. I pretended I didn’t care. Standing up I pushed the body glove down my hips, and off my legs and feet. The Commissar had unpacked his blanked roll and was sitting cross-legged in his underwear on the ground, the rough woollen blanket thrown around his shoulders. “Come here,” he said, beckoning me over. “Before you catch frost fever”.  
There was something distinctly ridiculous about standing in front of him naked like that so I approached him cautiously. His gaze remained crossed with mine; somehow that irritated me; strange but true. Wasn’t I attractive enough? Did I look too hard, with strung muscles, and little fat and many scars already? Was that it?  
When I reached him he pulled me down and onto his lap as if it was the most normal thing to do. He pulled me close against him and wrapped the blanket around the both of us. I shivered a little as I leaned against his warm body. The cold became less much more swiftly than I had thought. I shifted and put my arms around his waist, pressing closer against him to absorb more warmth. We sat for a long while, maybe hours. When we spoke again it was he who raised his voice first, and to a peculiar comment.  
“You’re very pretty,” he’d said, his voice soft, as if unwilling to disturb the silence. What does one say to that? I looked up at him as I wondered that, and a faint smile appeared around his lips. Something had changed in his gaze. The sentiment there stopping me momentarily; open attraction -appreciation, need, something dangerous like affection- playing havoc with his dark eyes. He leaned towards me after our gaze crossed, and before I even realised what happened his lips touched mine. Warm and confident without being forceful, and I responded without a thought in kind. I leaned into the kiss, enjoying it more than I thought I would, and as if I had sorely missed it. His tongue brushed past my lips and I opened my mouth in return as his hand slipped to the back of my head, his hold gentle but secure. He kissed just like he spoke – controlled, confident, and in command.  
As an Adeptus Sorroritas I am sworn to the Ecclessiarchy, and by extend to the Emperor himself. I do not habitually give myself, to anyone. Not that there are many takers, but that is hardly the point, is it? Yet right then, I could not help myself. Within moments of that quite amazing kiss, I wanted him. Badly. I must have taken a more severe hit on the head than I had thought.  
I shifted my weight more against his loin; pleased to learn from there his feelings most probably corresponded to my own. I slipped one arm around his neck to keep myself steady, and our kiss locked, as I let my other hand run across the edges of muscle it found on its chest. Along the edges of pectorals and abs my fingertips ran, down, down, ever further down; the way the muscles clenched when I brushed them encouraging. He groaned into our kiss when I touched his loin, more so when I touched is length, which swiftly hardened further under my touch. I whimpered slightly when his free hand moved down the curve of my hip; his other hand still resting against my neck, gently caressing it. In response, I slipped my hand under the cloth, drawing another groan from him as I touched his naked loin. When his fingers brushed between my thighs I couldn’t help but whimper, a little moan escaping me when he slipped one, then two fingers inside me with surprising ease. I was far from new to this, but his touch was quite… well practised. I could feel my entire will flounder on the spot, my insides becoming soft and squashy and before I knew it I was begging for more under his firm touch.  
“Want you,” I muttered as I slipped my hand around him, bringing my hand slowly up and down his length, finding it difficult to put any semblance of regularity in that under his ministrations. The palm of his hand was pressed firmly against him and his touch reached deeper inside me than even I myself could. It was utter bliss.  
“So I can feel,” he replied, his voice hoarse and strained. I mewled in protest when his touch suddenly left me, but whimpered in expectation when I felt him shift me over, wrap the blanket more around me before pushing me down against the rockcrete. He leaned over me, his weight braced on his left elbow as he tugged me underneath him. Still, his actions were controlled – I wondered if he ever lost it – and confident – as if he had every right to be doing this. And in command, still, I didn’t care, it was rather good this way.  
As he looked down at me that way, that look in his dark eyes again, I simply smiled – smirked a little even, and brought my hands back to his hips. I pressed my fingers under the cloth and deftly pressed the cloth down. I didn’t look at his exposed loins. If he wasn’t looking at me, I wasn’t look in turn either; see how he likes it. And there it was, just the faintest hint of a crease before it disappeared, right there at the small of his nose. I smiled, pleased with having drawn even. Then I ran my hands up his back, feeling the strong muscles there flex as I passed them, all the way to his neck. Wrapping my arms around his neck I drew him towards me, kissing him deeply as he shifted his weight down against me. I shifted my thighs as he laid down, accommodating his hips against mine. I wanted him. Rather badly by now. I moaned into our kiss when his loins touched mine; his length brushing past me. Wanted it. Badly. Now.  
“Need you,” I whimpered between our lips; bringing one leg up and around his waist, urging him closer. He said nothing, but the look he fixed me with was enough; a glimpse of fire smouldering in the depths of his dark eyes. I tugged at his neck with my arms, and waist with my leg. “Please,” I added; and watched the fire roar into life. His hold instantly became stronger as he moved his weight further on top of me, his kiss pressing the back of my head against the rockcrete, yet I couldn’t care for that when I felt him enter, the pleasure that roused in me so sudden and strong that I couldn’t help but moan against his lips. He set it to a swift and firm pace immediately, barely giving me a chance to adjust. Clearly, his control was lost. It was so good. It seemed to last an eternity and not long enough at the same time. I wanted it to last forever, but of course it didn’t. Clearly, we’d both been far to strung up to make anything last, least of all this. I moaned as my pleasure built rapidly, my hands clawing at his back and neck as I arched against him, wanting more, so much more; his ever stronger and more erratic thrusts returning that sentiment wholeheartedly. The warmth in the pit of my stomach spiralled up rapidly, exploding across my nerves so suddenly I couldn’t contain the cry as I writhed underneath him, bringing him along with me across the edge.  
I stared at the broken ceiling for a long moment, my body still trembling from the exertion as he laid down beside me, gathering me against him and wrapping the blanket around us once more. I shifted, started to say something, but his grip tightened. I glanced at him and his eyes said ‘no’. Control had returned, and so had confidence and command. I curled up against him, pressing the side of my face against his warm chest. That suited me just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of time and hard work went into the creation and publication of this story and as such it is very dear to me. I would love to hear what you thought of it. And please, share this story freely (preferably as a whole, by sharing this story's main page). You may quote it. Tumble it. Print it. Hug it. Make love to it (what?!). But credit me and link back to the page on AO3.org associated to what you shared. Thank you. <3


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